Let Me Lead You
by AnimeSiren
Summary: Arthur isn't sure what it is exactly, but he knows that it's the tension in Eames' shoulders, the look in his eyes, and the way his reach for Arthur is half frantic. Warnings: Light D/s themes, sexual content.


**Let Me Lead You**

**Notes:** _Originally written for the Inception Reverse Bang challenge on Livejournal, my partnered artist was Voeux. She made very lovely, very NSFW, art that can be viewed at either my livejournal or hers. The same usernames. Beta for this was lindenmae, on livejournal as well._

**Warning:**_ Light D/s themes._

_Enjoy._

**X-_X-_X**

Eames arrived at Arthur's apartment late, and they fell straight into bed. Eames was off a three month job in Belarus that was supposed to have only lasted half that time. When Arthur tried to question the patchwork bandages littering Eames' arm, or ask about the dark circles lingering under his eyes, Arthur had been shushed and nudged towards the bedroom.

While not protesting what was happening, Arthur really only had half a mind on what was going on. He was watching the line of Eames' back, the crease between his eyes, and the way Eames favored his left knee. When Arthur allowed himself to be spread across his own bed, his mind was really on the tension Eames was carrying in his shoulders.

It had been a tough job—obvious from the extended time frame, terse messages from Eames, and the favors that Arthur had called in from across the Atlantic to insure Eames safe passage to the states. But, Arthur noticed something more. Something that he wouldn't call quintessentially Eames.

"Did the exit strategy work fine?" Arthur asked. It was perhaps not the most romantic thing a person could say when their partner was kissing a line across their collar bone.

"Mm," Eames hummed, his fingers already working to force Arthur's shirt buttons open. His hands were heavy and warm wherever they landed and his movements weren't just feverish from need. Eames was acting like a man trying to float atop the sea and failing.

Arthur furrowed his brow. If Eames weren't doing his damnedest to distract him Arthur would probably be able to figure out what it was that had come over the other man. As it was Arthur was just barely able to get Eames' belt undone and ask, "Did Boris receive the payment?" at the same time.

"Arthur," Eames mumbled into the other man's stomach, giving up on the buttons altogether and just rucking Arthur's shirt up, "you need to shush up for now."

Arthur did manage to, for the most part. It wasn't hard to let himself be distracted by the better things that were happening. His worry sank towards the background instead.

When Eames began to impatiently tug at their trousers Arthur brushed his thumb over the nape of Eames' neck and felt an uncharacteristic wave of tenderness steal over him. Stilling his hand Arthur moved swiftly, tossing Eames' belt away finally and reversing their positions all in the same movement. Intent on Eames' zipper as he was Arthur didn't see the almost displeased look that flittered across Eames' face. It was gone the next second when Arthur loosed Eames' prick from the constraints of his pants and bent to lick a stripe up from base to head.

Arthur didn't figure the way Eames' hips were jerking up from the bed was an indication of patience, so he didn't bother fooling around. Only half hard himself, he swallowed Eames down as steadily and firmly as he could. He felt satisfied when he heard Eames give a guttural groan from the top of the bed.

"This is why we should take more jobs together," Eames said after a moment, hands gripping a little painfully in Arthur's hair. "Having you in my bed and eager would be a benefit, I have no doubt."

"My bed," Arthur pointed out for the sake of it, his voice gone slightly hoarse.

Arthur took the moment to get rid of the rest of his clothing. When he was fully naked he looked up at Eames, "Need the stress relief these days?"

"What I need Arthur, is…" His hands came down quick and viselike on Arthur's shoulders. He hauled Arthur up and flipped them again.

The air rushed out of Arthur, it was more rough-handling than impassioned maneuvering, and he couldn't suppress the surprised noise that he made when Eames slotted their bodies together. The other man was already setting a rhythm. The sudden sensation was enough to get Arthur's body with the program, and he readily bucked his hips upward, intent on the slide of their cocks against each other. Skin to skin, sensation following sensation, Arthur reached up to wind his arms around Eames' back and was stopped short.

"No," Eames spat the word low and authoritatively. Between shuddering breaths he caught up Arthur's wrists in his own and pinned them above the point man's head. Eames moaned under his breath after he did, his motions becoming more invigorated.

"What?" Arthur's mind warred between pleasure and confusion, his body remembering what to do but his mind wondering what was going on.

The hold that Eames had on his wrists wasn't the usual playful and loose struggle, no precursor to Arthur breaking free. It was tight, secure and efficient. It was meant to hold him, force him into line. Arthur had felt this hold from men restraining him in fights, not from the men or women he slept with.

But Eames was digging into Arthur's hip with his other hand, his mouth back on Arthur's neck, on a spot he'd made especially his own. Nipping and sucking, he kept muttering things in Arthur's ear too low for the point man to hear. It was good though, as it always was. Eames' body was like a furnace, and the heat bearing down on Arthur after three months of absence was enough for Arthur to almost be as gone to the sensation as Eames was.

Freedom of movement notwithstanding a few moments later Arthur brought his legs up and around Eames' hips and was pushing up into any space he could. Groaning, he came only a few seconds after Eames.

Eames was still mostly dressed, and they were a sticky disheveled mess collapsed together, but neither of them made a move to get up. Eames' eyes were closed and he was panting into the pillow next to Arthur's head, still mostly on top of him. Arthur, through the usual endorphin haze, couldn't help but feel that something important had just happened and that he had no idea what that something was.

Jet lag caught up with the forger, and Arthur was content enough to let the night dwindle away enough that they both fell asleep with few words. Eames arm was slung proprietarily over Arthur, caging but tender.

X-_X-_X

Arthur wasn't normally lethargic in the morning, and Eames rarely ever beat him out of bed on the mornings they were together. So, to say Arthur was surprised to awake to a cold bed and the sound of Eames all the way on the other side of the apartment was an understatement. Arthur rose from bed and headed towards the shower, trying to categorize the sounds he heard. Before he started the water he noticed that it sounded like Eames was puttering around the kitchen.

Later, when Arthur came down the hall clean and dressed in trousers and a simple button down, he was proven correct by the sight of Eames at the stove, spatula in hand. Arthur murmured a greeting and got himself a mug of coffee. His hand stilled only momentarily when he realized how odd it was that the coffee had even been started at all. Eames only drank tea in the morning, and he had never bothered to make coffee for Arthur before.

Feelings of wrongness, strangeness, and discomfort were amplified when Eames wrapped an arm around him from behind and murmured, "Breakfast will be ready in a minute, love," into his ear.

Arthur turned, raising his mug to his lips for lack of anything better to do. He paused a second before drinking, the idle thought of whether he should be suspicious of the drink making itself known. Arthur shook it off and moved to sit at the kitchen island. Eames had earned enough trust over the years that Arthur didn't think he had to worry about that kind of thing. Not to mention Eames probably found it bad form to poison the person you were sleeping with.

Eames noticed Arthur watching him and flashed a smile, pointing at the pan he was working over. "Pancakes."

Arthur did not have pancake mix in his apartment several hours ago. Making a noncommittal noise, he dragged his eyes towards the newspaper that was waiting on the counter instead.

"Did you get the paper too?"

"Mmhmm."

Arthur unfolded it and distracted himself with the abduction of ICC workers in Libya until Eames sat a plate in front of him and stole the paper away with a tutting noise.

"You haven't been eating proper again," Eames sighed as he sat across from Arthur, digging into his own plate with gusto.

It was a true statement. Arthur had been busy with work of his own, and then worried about getting Eames into the states. He had missed a couple meals, needless to say. It wasn't a thing though, and Eames had certainly never mentioned it before. Arthur's habits weren't recently developed.

"What are you doing?"

Eames raised his head and looked questioningly at Arthur. The man seemed content, tired, and utterly at ease sitting at Arthur's kitchen island. "What's this now?"

"Breakfast, the newspaper, and whatever the hell angle you're working," Arthur pointed at his plate and the newspaper in turn. He felt his forehead wrinkle when Eames just stared back at him, confused.

"Are you feeling quite well?"

"I'm fine," Arthur replied shortly. He could feel his own hackles rising and Eames wasn't even arguing back him. "Is this about last night? You were acting strange. Was it the exit strategy? I told you coming in from Nova Scotia would be tricky—,"

Eames' face shut down quicker than a prison gate when Arthur mentioned the words "last night." All of a sudden Arthur wasn't the only one that looked uncomfortable.

"The job went fine," Eames said shortly. "Or getting out of it, you know what I mean. I don't know what's wrong with making a bit of breakfast."

Arthur sat still, unable to get a read on Eames. "Something's off about you, and I don't know what it is."

Eames fidgeted until the moment he looked up to meet Arthur's gaze. "Christ, Arthur, do you think you can just stand to let someone take care of you for once? Maybe relinquish the bloody reigns on one sodding meal?"

When Eames didn't back down, Arthur began to feel ridiculous. Finally, he nodded and picked up his fork. When Arthur had grudgingly acknowledged that the pancakes were delicious, Eames picked his own fork back up and they resumed breakfast.

Arthur wasn't satisfied though. Eames may have managed to turn the conversation back on Arthur but that didn't mean Arthur was wrong in noticing that something was eating at Eames.

X-_X-_X

The whole affair had been out of Arthur's mind for weeks before he was faced with having to think about it again. He had little choice, though, when Eames started acting strangely again.

This time they were on the job together. The mark was an architect who owed someone powerful information they'd already taken money for. She had been holed up in a small town on the western coast of Spain. Arthur and Eames' team worked out of a safe house Arthur had procured that was on the outskirts of the town.

The job went to shit with spectacular speed.

It hit Eames the hardest. The mark didn't take to his forge at all, and had realized she was dreaming moments after. Determined to finish the job, Arthur tried to send Eames up top and finish the job with the extractor down below. It didn't work out like Arthur had hoped.

Instead of trying to wake herself up, the mark led them on a physics bending chase through her own mind. To top things off, Eames refused to go up top and had got caught in the maze once the mark's subconscious security finally caught up with them.

It took Arthur thirty two seconds of real time to wake up and give Eames a kick. In the dream it was six and a half minutes of the mark's projections tearing Eames' skin off with their bare hands.

The team cut their losses and left town immediately. Arthur managed to get their expenses covered by offering the location of the mark to their client. Eames and Arthur found themselves in a decent hotel not far from Barcelona, a night long layover before they could hope to fly back west, to the States.

Arthur had had jobs go bad with Eames before, but he hadn't been _with_ Eames during any of them. He hadn't ever been the lover during any of these jobs; he had only ever before been the co-worker.

When a job went bad for Arthur, he went through and mentally calculated everything that had happened. He mulled over what went wrong and figured out a dozen ways to prevent something similar from happening on the next job.

Eames did not do anything remotely similar. In fact, when they finally settle at a hotel and Arthur turns to ask Eames a question about the dream sequence he has to stop up short. Eames is very specifically leaning casually against the room's small table, very obviously trying to look unbothered. But Arthur notices. It's the same look in his eyes, the same unvocal expression of feverish intent, and it's the same stress lying in his shoulders.

Arthur realizes with startling clarity that there is a pattern afoot. He realizes, when he thought about that night and morning from a few weeks back, that Eames had just been home from a bad job, a job where _Eames_ been pushed and tested. Just like this one.

Arthur is drawn up so short by this fact that, instead of his original question the one that pops out of his mouth is, "Eames…what _is_ this?"

The other man crosses his arms and takes his time replying. "What this happened to be was a spectacular cock up."

Arthur grips and re-grips his hands. He has the brief feeling of being back in the army, being lined up in front of a superior officer. Arthur almost falls back into parade rest on instinct. Instead he raises an eyebrow and takes his suit jacket off to hang up as casually as possible.

"Pretty par for the course as far as jobs with Jensen have gone lately, though. I don't think we should accept any more offers from him. He's worse than that Polish extractor, Patrik, these days."

Arthur doesn't hear Eames come up behind him, which should be a hint if there ever was one. Eames always made some little sound or something to let Arthur know he was in the other man's blind spot.

"This job," Eames' breath was hot and moist on the back of Arthur's neck, "showed an astonishing lack of control. Not something I'd write home to mum about, that's for bloody sure."

Arthur breathes out slowly through his noise. There is something Eames is projecting and Arthur can't put his finger on it. But, whatever it is, he can feel his body responding to it. His pulse is racing and he's beginning to feel warm. This is entirely the wrong place for this though. Whatever this _thing_ is that is getting under Eames' skin…they're on the run and this is _not the place_ for it.

Arthur opens his mouth and takes a step forward. Eames' hands snake through his arms though, and pull him back hard against the Englishman's chest. Before Arthur can say a word Eames brings a hand up around his mouth.

"No," Eames says sternly. Eames is nosing at Arthur's neck, his breath tickling just below Arthur's ears. "You talk and you try to rationalize everything away, and you never, ever, give any of that duff control of yours."

Arthur doesn't bother trying to speak through Eames' hand.

"No faffing around, Arthur."

Eames turns Arthur and leads him over to the dingy double bed the hotel room is supplied with. A gentle shove has Arthur loose limbed on his back.

Arthur licks his lips. "Eames."

No other invitation is needed. Eames is next to Arthur within a moment, his lips brushing against the brunet's. "I'm going to take care of you, darling. I promise."

It's slow and sensual then. The only sound is their breathing and the rustling of their clothes meeting the floor. It is slow, in a way, and Arthur feels as though Eames is treating what they're doing as something reverent. Arthur's careful to return every touch in kind.

It's always been hard for Arthur to turn his mind off, though. He leans forward into Eames and finds himself whispering a question. "Is it the job? Is that what's got you riled up?"

Eames sighs, more of an exhale than anything and reaches off the side of the bed to snag up Arthur's tie. He kisses Arthur soundly on the mouth and then balls the tie up into the smallest sphere he can.

Arthur asks, "What?" But then Eames has the tie poised at Arthur's mouth. The hesitation is a question and it takes Arthur a moment to figure out what the question is. Eames isn't an insurgent gagging Arthur in the desert though, so Arthur makes himself relax.

"What the hell," Arthur says more casually than he feeks. "I'll try anything once."

Eames chuckles and Arthur can feel it where their skin meets. When the makeshift gag is in place Eames lays Arthur back against the bedspread.

"No noise, love. No talking." He runs his hands down Arthur's chest, slowly, fingers making light paths through the smattering of hair there. "It's this easy to give it up, isn't it? All that blasted control, and it's easy to give a little bit up, yeah?"

Arthur holds Eames' eyes, and then slowly reaches up and cupped his cheek. Eames leans into the touch and murmurs "We're going to do this proper."

He takes each of Arthur's wrists in a hand and then spreads Arthur's arms out until they're horizontal across the bed. "Leave 'em."

Arthur nods. This is probably the most sensual experience he's ever had with the forger, including their first time. That had been back during the Montenegro job where they'd watched each other take a bullet. Their job had been successful though, and their client's information had been kept safe. It had been emotional; Arthur could admit that, fear had spurred them on. It wasn't hard to realize the both of them could have been dead back then. Arthur didn't think there would be any danger in the present though. They'll make it back home easy, neither of them too terribly worse for wear.

Arthur feels an odd moment of relief when he realizes that no matter what Eames has been mumbling about, the other man is in control of this situation. Mentally, Arthur is amazed at that fact, feels like he's stepping into something new. Physically, his body responds to the welcome touch of hands and a mouth that it already knows.

Eames strokes Arthur gently. He looks up into brown eyes. "I'm going to fuck you," he says it softly "and you're going to be quiet and not come until I tell you."

For all that the words should be harsh, or offensive, they aren't. Arthur nods again; feels a thrill go up his spine.

Eames preps Arthur slowly and ever so carefully. Arthur tries to cant his hips and hurry Eames along, but he gets a disapproving look in response and doesn't try it again. By the time Eames finishes Arthur is sweating and trying hard not to say anything around the gag.

Eames rolls on a condom he'd snagged from their bags and spreads more of the lube on himself. He leans forward and kisses Arthur under his chin murmuring, "Mine."

Surprisingly it's the first push past muscle that almost undoes Arthur. After all the buildup and all of Eames' murmured promises, that initial breach almost has him levitating off the bed. He moans around the gag, and very specifically doesn't let out muffled words. Eames sinks fully down and Arthur has to push his arms against the bed in order to not bring them up against Eames' wishes.

"Good," Eames mutters, his breath short. "That's good, Arthur."

Eames takes his time with Arthur, sets a speed and alters it at his own wishes. Pushes in deep and then retreats to shallow thrusts, alternating between holding Arthur's hips up against his thighs and pushing him down against the mattress.

This unfamiliarity mixed in with what he knows takes its toll on Arthur. He's leaked onto his own stomach, painfully hard, and almost all the way gone. Eames realizes it after a few moments.

"Not until I tell you, love," he reminds Arthur. Then he brings Arthur's hips up again and sets a more unrelenting pace. Arthur's groans are lost on the gag.

It's some time later that Arthur feels Eames losing his fine control and getting closer to the edge. Eames waits until he has Arthur's gaze and then snaps his hips down hard and comes, making Arthur watch how he's affected.

When he pulls out, and after he strips the condom off, he snags the end of Arthur's tie and pulls it out and away from Arthur's mouth. He replaces it with his hand quickly though.

"Not a word, Arthur, and no noise this time. Let me control it, hm?"

Eames takes his hand away and runs it down Arthur's stomach and then along his slightly trembling thigh. He runs his fingers along the base of Arthur's prick and cups his balls. He strokes Arthur once and says, "Come."

Arthur does.

X-_X-_X

For all of Arthur's expectations about the next day, he's not proven wrong. He's recognized a pattern for sure now, and decides to study it carefully instead of pushing against it. He thinks he's close to figuring out what these odd moments are to Eames.

The next morning when Arthur woke up, Eames was there with breakfast again, fetched from a local place this time. Arthur didn't do anything except eat slowly, watching Eames. They'd showered together after, Eames crowded up against Arthur's back and lathering all skin of Arthur's that he could reach. Arthur made sure that Eames knew he was appreciative of the contact.

Later, Eames took care of checking out of the hotel, even though Arthur was the one that had arranged it and supplied a fake ID for it. Eames found them transport as well, and he took Arthur's small duffel from him when they headed into the airport, carrying it without a word.

In the airport Eames disappears for a bit and Arthur relaxes back down into his chair, letting out a breath. Eames' _attentiveness_ is the most foreign part of what's happening, Arthur feels. He's not used to it, he hadn't expected it, and that puts him on edge a bit. He's a point man. He makes sure needs are met all the time, and with perfection. He's never had someone be on point for _him._

When Eames returns, it's with an overpriced bottle of water in one hand and what looks like an obscenely expensive neck pillow in the other.

Eames sits down next to Arthur with a grin and waves the neck pillow at Arthur. "Anytime we're up there more than a few hours and you get a crick in your neck, figured this would be good, yeah?"

Arthur's not ashamed to admit that the whole concept of the neck pillow that's being handed to him is a little jarring. He takes it and turns it over a couple times in his hands, staring at the very tangible proof of Eames' newfound tenderness.

"Thanks," Arthur says, a trifle more sincere than he'd meant to sound.

"You're welcome, darling." Eames beams, and Eames seems utterly content all the way through their changeover in Madrid and through to their arrival at JFK. Arthur can't help but be impressed.

X-_X-_X

They lose a teammate. Oscar isn't shot in front of them, he's not abducted. What happens is that Oscar flips on them and accepts a payoff for betraying them that's not much more than what the job's initial payout would have been per team member.

It's a crippling blow to their security to say the least.

Arthur and Eames are out of it before things get too thick. Arthur's experienced and his easy going attitude on a low risk job isn't lack of awareness, but confidence. He makes sure Eames is safe; he makes sure that he himself will be safe, and he does what he can for the teammate that didn't betray them.

It goes remarkably smoothly. It ends up that the man that bought off Oscar makes out with only their names and vague descriptions of their faces. No pictures, no traceable evidence; nothing that could come back on them. Arthur makes sure of it.

When they arrive back at the New York residence, and it really has become the place they spend their down time, Arthur feels relaxed and safe. He's absolutely certain that they're making it out unscathed.

Being so busy setting everything to rights he hasn't particularly taken into account Eames' mood. It takes Arthur a quarter of an hour after unpacking to realize that that familiar line is back in Eames' back. Visible, like hills on a horizon line suddenly hunching. It's not good.

"Eames?"

The forger's taken off his shoes and undone another button at his collar. His coat's hung on the rack and Arthur put his bag away. But still Arthur feels, with good reason, that Eames doesn't feel like he's safe and at home yet.

"Arthur." Eames returns, rolling Arthur's name off his tongue like he's testing it. He sighs and goes to the half bar in their parlour. There he calmly takes a tumbler and pours himself two fingers of scotch. He turns leans and against the wood stand, and then calmly takes a sip.

His eyes do not leave Arthur's.

Arthur knows there are choices here. He taps his hand a couple times against his thigh nervously. He knows exactly which ways he could play. He knows he could get out of it. He knows he's not entirely sure he wants to. Arthur thinks of Eames holding his hands down, and he thinks of neck pillows in airports. Lastly, he thinks of Eames telling him to come and letting himself give into it.

"What," Arthur's voice comes out creaky, like his throat's on a rusty hinge. He tries again, "What do you need, Eames?"

Eames drops the hand holding the crystal tumbler to the side and Arthur follows the line of Eames' trousers down and looks at it. Is it liquid courage or is it a deterrent?

"You don't know what it does to me, Arthur," Eames replies, his mouth a soft but tight line, "that you know to ask that."

"It's the job. Jobs. They go wrong and you…"

Arthur doesn't know how to phrase it. He doesn't know how to make it inoffensive.

Eames is quiet. His posture doesn't change. So, Arthur struggles to finish his sentence.

"Control," Arthur finishes lamely. "You need control, when the jobs go south. When something fucks up, you take control."

Arthur believes the words more and more as he continues to speak. He knows, finally, that this is what he's branded it as in his own mind. He wonders if the world already has a word for it. He doesn't think it could, whatever this is that is going on between Eames and him.

"It's not your fault," Arthur takes his gaze away from Eames long enough to furrow his brow. He realizes that he doesn't understand that bit. If this is what he thinks it is, then why does Eames get so frustrated when he's not the reason for any of the jobs going wrong? "Nothing has been your fault. I don't think I've ever even seen one of your forges collapse, or anything."

Eames lets Arthur look at him questioningly. Arthur watches Eames take another sip of his liquor and wonders if Eames feels as flushed and war as he himself does.

"It's a weakness," It's real now; they're really talking about this. It looks like Eames is making himself explain. It's odd, watching a person struggle to explain themselves to you. "I'm a forger, I study people. I know what needing control does to people. Think of every control freak CEO or weak tempered, posh politician we've stolen from. I _know_ what a want of control can do to a person, Arthur."

Thoughts don't have to race to reach a conclusion, and Arthur's don't. He very slowly, very quietly, puts some of the pieces together.

"You feel comfortable with me."

"Yes."

"So that means," Arthur licks his lips, "that you don't think I'll take advantage."

"I would surmise so then, Arthur, if you require specifics."

Arthur nods, more to himself. He realizes, suddenly, that there's an entire room separating him and Eames. Eames is still leaned against the wooden stand, and Arthur is still leaning against the doorway to hide his uncertainty.

"One last thing," Arthur clears his throat. He uses a tone not dissimilar to one he would use when wrapping up a business meeting. "Why do you act the way you do, after?"

Eames straightens. "After?"

"Breakfast," Arthur answers, "for example."

Eames closes his eyes. He uses the hand not holding his glass to touch his lips. "Sometimes," he says, quiet "I like to be able to just care for you, Arthur. With no pretensions, no misconceptions, and with you not raising your well-oiled hackles."

Arthur doesn't steel himself for what he does next and he doesn't take a deep, preparatory breath either. He just walks across the floor. He plants himself squarely in front of Eames. Arthur's jaw isn't set, and his shoulders aren't either. He's feeling oddly, surprisingly relaxed.

"What," Arthur enunciates carefully, again, "do you need, Eames?"

Eames, in his favor, doesn't pause long enough to bat an eyelash.

"Strip," he says, pushing himself off his resting place "Slowly."

Not what Arthur was necessarily expecting, but he thinks his army days conditioned him well for swallowing orders as they come.

Arthur realizes, now, not like he did the first time this happened, that his acquiescence is directly linked to whether or not Eames feels himself in control of the situation.

He goes slowly, and he tries not to take his eyes away from Eames' any longer than he has to. His tie's been left in the bedroom, his jacket hung on a hanger in their wardrobe. But he works his buttons loose. He starts at the top and his fingers don't shake. He un-tucks his shirt and pulls it off his shoulders. He lets it pool where it falls on the floor.

He takes the moment to undo his watch and he sets it and his cufflinks on the coffee table several feet to his left. He pulls his socks off and swoops his undershirt up and over his head.

He undoes his belt and watches Eames. He unbuttons his trousers, unzips them, and lets them drop behind his shirt all the while watching Eames. Eames watches every garment until it's discarded. He runs his eyes over Arthur's arms and his chest, his thighs and even his feet. He looks like he's never seen Arthur before.

Arthur steps out of his boxers, tilts his head a bit, and waits.

"You are gorgeous," Eames weaves weight into the words. "Arthur, you have to know, that I appreciate you, and this. _Us_. I'm glad for you in my life, grateful."

Arthur feels his lips twitch of their own regard, he hopes he's not breaking any rules when he says, "After the six years of aggravation you put me through?"

Eames isn't offended though and he chuckles, his eyes ever so slightly glassy. "I knew you were important when I met you, darling. Talented."

"I knew you were a pain in the ass when I met you," Arthur trades. "Turns out we were both right."

Eames finally touches Arthur, though he hasn't put his drink down. He draws a hand from Arthur's temple to his chin. He rubs his hand lightly against the stubble that's just barely beginning to form there.

"Every line of you exhaled control;" Eames is almost whispering, he sounds reverent "It was like being back in the blasted motherland again."

Arthur feels a bit like too harsh of a breath might ruin whatever is tenuously balancing here, so he doesn't talk. He tries to stand straight, tries to convey a bit of what he feels to Eames. He wonders whether he should feel ridiculous standing like he is in the middle of his living room.

Eames' hand shifts and he covers Arthur's mouth like he knows what's going on in Arthur's mind. "Wait a tick."

Eames takes himself and his drink away to their bedroom, Arthur watching over his shoulder. Eames returns a moment later with a long strip of black cloth in his hand. It could be a tie, Arthur reasons. Or even a piece of ripped cloth. But, something gives Arthur the feeling that it is exactly what it looks like. A blindfold, where Eames produced it from Arthur doesn't know. He wonders how long he's had it.

Eames holds it out to Arthur.

"Around your eyes, love," he says, "securely."

Even as Arthur's moving to obey he knows exactly what this is, a test, of sorts. Blinding himself purposefully and letting Eames be his eyes. Arthur knows what he's saying by going along with it.

"In our business we rely so much on being able to know what is real," Eames watches Arthur's hands knotting the cloth. "It's never really an option for us to be at the mercies of others. To be blind to what we do; to let someone else make decisions for us."

The cloth is secure and Arthur can only barely see the room's light at the edges of the cloth. "If you don't know what you're doing in our world you lose reality. It's our own mistake."

"Point men are in an extraordinarily difficult position. They have the faith of the entire team placed on them. But it's second nature to those in our culture now. How can people stand to give up that kind of control? Worse than a crusade, that."

"Asking me to trust you, Eames?"

"Yes."

Arthur swallows his next flippant statement at Eames' candid response.

"I already do," Arthur says, "On jobs, in my apartment, sleeping next to you at night—not exactly the easiest choice to make when in dreamshare."

"With this, Arthur? Will you trust me with this? Let me have control for a bit?"

Arthur's glad his eyes are covered now. He knows things have come down to the wire.

"Yeah," Arthur finally says like it's easy. "Yeah, I can trust you."

Eames walks up to Arthur and then past him. Arthur can feel their arms brush before Eames is at his back, close enough that his breath is warm on Arthur's neck.

"I want to feel it, Arthur. I can't wait to feel it."

Arthur hears Eames' glass slosh slightly. Then the discussion is over, and Eames' tone is firms slightly breathless, but firm.

"Kneel."

Arthur goes down slowly, wonders if he should turn, but a short shove on his shoulder has him facing forward again. He lets his thighs rest against his legs, hooks his hands together behind his back because it feels right to all of a sudden.

There's a hand in his hair, "Christ Arthur—you're perfect like this."

Eames sets the glass away to the side; Arthur can hear it, before he begins to run his hands all about Arthur. Eames' lips are on Arthur's next and his hands running down Arthur's arms and then the next minute Eames is kissing between Arthur's shoulder blades and running his thumbs over the other man's nipples.

Blindfolded, Arthur doesn't know what to expect. Doesn't have enough clues to know exactly where Eames is going to be one moment and then the next.

Arthur's body had been responding steadily from the beginning, already anticipating Eames' attention, but the way his pulse quickens so suddenly is a little surprising. Arthur attributes it to the blindfold.

When Eames' hands start straying lower, Arthur leans back against him pressing back into Eames' own kneeled body, fully clothed as it is, is a little shocking. A quick groan passes Arthur's lips.

"I want to take care of you," Eames states against the shell of Arthur's ear.

Arthur twists back, his breath coming out in pants when both of Eames' hands cut down his hips, gripping the insides of Arthur's thighs and pushing them outwards a bit, spreading his legs.

"Are you going to let me take care of you, Arthur?"

Eames nips, hard, twice in a row at the joint of Arthur's shoulder. It suffices to pull a startled "_Please_" out of Arthur.

There's no time for eloquent answers or snarky comments. Arthur can feel that. The blindfold takes more away than his sight. He feels like every sensation is a jumble, not quite enough to get a whole picture but promising. Arthur knows he's not supposed to answer like that anyway. Not with what Eames want, the control that Eames needs from him.

He lets it go.

"I want you." He pushes his palms up against Eames' groin, palming at Eames' own restricted hardness. "I do. Fuck it, Eames, I want you, now."

Eames rewards him with a hand in his hair, jerking his head backwards, and sloppily licking into his mouth. A moment later there's a touch at the base of Arthur's cock, and finally those familiar hands are on him.

Eames strokes him, twisting unexpectedly, running a thumb over the slit at the head. He cups Arthur's balls, whispering filthy promises and encouragement in Arthur's ear. He does not stop touching Arthur for a single second.

There's a hand on Arthur's chest, rubbing across his nipples, and Eames' other hand is rubbing distractedly at Arthur's perineum. Eames' blunt fingers brush once against Arthur's hole. A promise for later, they don't go any further. Instead, Eames returns a hand to Arthur's cock.

Eames quickens a pace on Arthur's cock, let's himself close his eyes for a bit and just feel the weight of Arthur's muscle in his hand, familiar as it is. He jerks a little quicker, squeezes his palm around the head. Arthur moans like he's trying to hide the sound.

"Perfect," Eames mutters.

Arthur goes taut underneath Eames' ministrations and the Englishman has no doubt that Arthur's legs aren't going to cooperate much when they finally stand. Eames finds that he relishes the idea of helping Arthur up, arms around the slimmer man, circling him tight. Pre-come wets Eames hand and he smears it down Arthur's length, speeding up unrelentingly. Arthur's about gone. But, Eames wants him all the way gone.

"You have to let go," Eames says matter of fact. "Let me have everything, darling."

Arthur can feel his body tightening, knowing what's coming, knowing what it wants. It's finally there, in that moment before every synapse burns away, that Arthur feels his control finally shift. He shoves his head back on Eames shoulder, digs his fingers into Eames' thighs behind him, and lets himself groan out Eames' name.

When he's spent over Eames hand and on his own stomach he doesn't make a move to take of the blindfold. He sags backwards instead, into Eames. He feels the other man's chest rise and fall, knows, tangibly, that Eames is behind him, bracing him, supporting him.

There is a brief rustle of cloth, Eames wiping his hand on Arthur's discarded clothing no doubt, before those familiar arms go around Arthur's waist.

Eames kisses Arthur's neck, letting his lips rest there afterwards. "I knew you would let go."

If Arthur could bring a hand up to bat at Eames he would. "Ego."

"Mm, faith."

Eames hands reach up to undo the knot of the blindfold, logic telling him that they can't spend eternity on the floor crouched as they are. If nothing else they'd starve eventually.

Arthur blinks when he can see again, the light seeming a bit brighter than normal.

They look at each other. Eames is searching the gaze, Arthur's studying it.

"All right then?" Eames asks, his hand stroking up and down Arthur's ribcage.

"Yeah," Arthur says, and it may be surprising that he's not lying. "Good, even."

Eames laughs and buries his head in Arthur's neck. "Oh, Arthur, whatever would I do without your contrary personality?"

Arthur wrinkles his nose on principle, as haughty as he can manage when he feels so entirely spent. When Eames picks his head back up again Arthur grins and nods downwards.

"If you can bother to make it to our bedroom I'll see what I can do about that."

"Will you now?"

Arthur nods as solemnly as he can manage while grinning.

"Up you get then," and Eames does get to pull Arthur to his feet, gets to circle his arms around Arthur's waist. Their steps are shaky as they stumble towards the bedroom. Eames thinks that maybe Arthur's letting Eames help him a bit more than required. Eames smiles, unstressed, unworried, and utterly and completely relaxed and content.


End file.
